


Put Your Trust In Me

by mishmashfandom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Law Enforcement, Murder Mystery, Roaring 20s, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishmashfandom/pseuds/mishmashfandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dr. Jake Griffin is murdered in his own home, it is Detective Bellamy Blake's job to solve the case. But figuring out who the murderer is turns out to be easier said than done, even with help from Dr. Griffin's very attractive daughter, Clarke.<br/>Something about this case feels off, and Bellamy swears he'll figure out what is going on behind the closed doors of Griffin Mansion, no matter the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting the Family

Bellamy Blake was late.

In his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. This morning when he’d come into the office, he’d expected it to be just another regular day, fighting small-time criminals in Chicago. Instead the first thing he heard when he stepped through the doors was:

“Dr. Jake Griffin was murdered last night, and I’m leaving you in charge of the investigation.”

Bellamy looked up from his steaming cup of coffee and into the serious eyes of his superior, the Chief of Police. Bellamy groaned audibly; Dr. Griffin was one of the richest men in the country, and Bellamy wasn’t very good company when it came to those with money. Too much bad blood.

“Can’t Green do it?” he said, and waved his hand in Monty’s direction, only to realize that the normally very punctual and chipper Monty Green was no-where to be found. He looked inquiring at the Chief, who in turn just shook his head.

“Mr. Green has a personal relation to Dr. Griffin’s daughter, Clarke. Same goes for Mr. Jordan. And seeing as you three are the only detectives I have, my only option left is you.”

Bellamy had always thought himself above begging, but in this case, he’d make an exception. “Dear God, please no. Lincoln, I beg of you, as your brother-in-law, please don’t make me deal with the riches,” he whined. It wasn’t that Bellamy didn’t love his job as a detective, it was just that he couldn’t stand rich people on a normal day, and he had experienced the hard way that riches got even more annoying when something was wrong for once in their pampered, little lives. Dealing with the late Dr. Griffin’s sobbing wife and daughter didn’t sound like something Bellamy would like to do, like, ever. Chief Lincoln just stared blankly at him though, shoved a couple of files into Bellamy’s hands and told him, in no uncertain terms, what the Chief would be forced to do to him, if he did not behave on this job.

Bellamy had spent the twenty minute drive to the Griffin Mansion reading through the file Lincoln had given him. In it was every piece of information on the victim, Dr. Jake Griffin, his family and his work. Bellamy had recognized the man’s name when he had heard it, but he’d never truly given much thought to what Dr. Griffin did for a living. It turned out that the guy had been the Senior Environmental Engineer in Jaha Coal Company, one of the biggest producers of coal in America. Practically every building in Chicago used their coal for electricity. The company was founded by Thelonious Jaha back in 1892. In 1895 he hired the recently graduated Dr. Jake Griffin, and after that the company became insanely successful. Fast forward till present day, and 92 pct. of all electricity in Chicago came from Jaha Coal Company. They provided 57 pct. of the collective coal consumption for all of the United States. To say that Mr. Jaha and Dr. Griffin had money enough to swim in would be an understatement.

The cab had to make a stop on the way to pick up the department’s forensic scientist, Nathan Miller, who also happened to be one of Bellamy’s closest friends. Miller had apparently only just gotten the call from the Chief though, so it took him a little extra time to get ready. Which explained Bellamy’s tardiness.

* * *

 

The cab finally pulled down the private road that would lead to their destination. The road was long, but Bellamy and Miller didn’t even notice, they were so occupied with starring at the huge grounds that surrounded the mansion. The gardens were filled with flowers and trees in full bloom, the grass was perfectly trimmed, and off to the left side you could catch a glimpse of a small lake, complete with a small boathouse and white rowboat tied to the wooden pier.  When they finally got to the mansion itself, Bellamy had to stop for a second on his way out of the cab, just to take in the place. The Griffin mansion was a sight to behold; the private road had led up to a huge circular courtyard with an elegant stone fountain placed in the middle of it. The water from the fountain filled the courtyard with a pleasant glugging sound, and the sweet smell from the nearby cherry trees made Bellamy’s eyes close in pleasure. If he lived here, he was quite sure he’d never suffer another headache ever again.

The mansion itself was faced with heavy-looking stone bricks in a light grey color, and the window frames were painted white. The front door was made from mahogany, or at least that’s what Bellamy assumed, given its dark brown color. Above the front door was a balcony, which was supported by two huge white pillars. The mansion in its entirety gave of the impression of being a very well-kept house from older times. The small bushes and trees that grew in front of the house were all cut in perfect orbs, simultaneously stylish and unnatural, and Bellamy abruptly remembered why he was there. He was there to solve a murder, not to bloody stare at some rich family’s extravagant home.

He hurried up the steps to the front door, Miller hot on his heels, and rang the doorbell.

An ancient looking butler, in an expensive looking suit, answered the door. “Yes?” he asked, his voice like something had gotten stuck in his nose. Bellamy cleared his throat.

“Good afternoon, sir. I am detective Bellamy Blake, and this is my associate Mr. Nathan Miller. We are here concerning the investigation of Dr. Griffin’s death. May we come in?”

The butler gave him a once over. “You’re late,” he commented, but made way for the two men to enter the mansion anyways. “The poor Mrs. Griffin has been waiting for hours.”

This was, of course, a complete lie; they were only about thirty minutes late, but Bellamy chose not to say anything. Riches, and everyone around them, were always so hopelessly self-centered. Better to not make a big deal out of it.

Instead, he nodded and apologized profoundly for their tardiness. He was laying it on thick, but riches loved that kind of stuff, and sure enough, the butler completely changed his attitude towards them. He called upon another servant, who was to escort Miller to the crime scene, so he could gather whatever physical evidence there was for later documentation and analysis. The murder had taken place in Dr. Griffin’s own bedroom, located on the first floor. As Miller was lead up the stairs, Bellamy couldn’t help but stare after the other man; Miller was his only support in this place, and Bellamy really didn’t want to be alone with the riches. As if reading his thoughts, Miller turned around on the staircase and gave Bellamy the thumbs up and a cheeky grin. Both the butler and Bellamy scoffed, but his dark mood lifted slightly after that.

* * *

 

The butler hurriedly led Bellamy through the entrance hall and into a large sitting room, where the Griffin family was supposedly waiting for him. When he entered the sitting room though, the only people present was a middle-aged lady in a floor-length black dress and matching black hat, complete with veil to cover the face, that Bellamy assumed was Mrs. Griffin. Besides her stood a tall, dark-skinned man, also in his middle years, who reeked of authority. Bellamy had a vague notion that this perhaps was Thelonious Jaha, creator and owner of Jaha Coal Company. He had read in his file on Dr. Griffin that the two men had been very close friends as well as colleagues.

The butler suddenly took it upon himself to announce him to the room, which was startling, and just a tad annoying, though Bellamy realized that this was probably part of his job.

“Detective Bellamy Blake from the Chicago Police Department has arrived Mrs. Griffin.”

“Yes, thank you, Simon. We would like the tea served now then, if you please. Oh, and do inform Clarke that we have company. I’m sure the detective would like to speak to her as well.”

The butler, or Simon, as was apparently his name, bowed deeply and scurried away, probably in search for tea. Bellamy had to bite back a snicker; these people and their customs seemed so utterly silly to him. He quickly sobered up though, when the authoritarian looking man made his way over to him to shake hands with him.

“Thelonious Jaha, Detective. It’s good of you to come. Dreadful thing that happened, simply dreadful,” Mr. Jaha said, all the while shaking his head ever so slightly.

Bellamy nodded in agreement, and made his way over to the uncomfortable, but very graceful looking cabriole couch Mrs. Griffin was sitting on.

“Mrs. Griffin,” he addressed her, “I’m terribly sorry about your loss. Please, accept my heartfelt condolences.” She held out her hand to him, and he pressed a light kiss on top of it.

“Thank you, Detective. You are most kind. Now, to the unpleasant subject of solving my husband’s murder; what can we do to help?”

Bellamy was a little taken aback; usually, the widows were quiet and hard to pry open. How many times hadn’t he had to deal with hysteric women, who constantly cried and cried? Mrs. Griffin was a welcome change from those types, but there was a sort of hardness in her eyes that worried Bellamy. Why wasn’t she more torn up? It was odd, to see the wife of a victim act so together, especially when the body had been found only a few hours earlier. Was Mrs. Griffin simply always this closed off, or..? Bellamy was used to women whom he could easily read, but Mrs. Griffin appeared before him as a closed book, and it rattled him more than a little.

He startled a little when he felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even heard Mr. Jaha walk over to him.

“You must understand how much this investigation means to Mrs. Griffin and I,” Mr. Jaha said. “Finding whoever did this and seeing them punished is our top priority.”

“Well that’s certainly odd,” a voice said from somewhere behind Bellamy. All three occupants of the room turned their eyes towards the newcomer. “See, I thought your top priority was the illicit affair you’ve been having with my mother behind my father’s back.”

The voice turned out to belong to the most breathtaking woman Bellamy had ever seen.

Her blonde hair was cut in the very popular short bob that all young women seemed to find so attractive, but it was unwashed and lay flat upon her head. She was wearing a black dress that ended just above her knees, and she was barefooted. She had no make-up on, and the dark circles under her eyes had dark circles. It was obviously that she had been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was pale, as if she were cold. And still, even despite her complete disregard for her looks (or maybe even because of it), Bellamy found her to be intensely fascinating. Her blue eyes glittered with animosity, and Bellamy was left wondering what kind of atrocity he had committed, until he realized that her gaze wasn’t fixed on him, but rather on her mother and Mr. Jaha. For Bellamy had no doubt about who the young woman was; Clarke Griffin demanded the room’s attention even more so than her mother, who shook her head forcefully as she rose from the couch.

“Clarke,” she started, her tone firm. “You are behaving like a brat, and not the bright young woman you usually portray. I realize that the grief from having your father torn away from you is overwhelming, trust me, I know. But this foolish idea of yours- that Thelonious and I should be having an affair- is ridiculous and insulting to your father’s memory. I will not have you behave in this manner, especially in front of guests.”

Never once did Mrs. Griffin raise her voice, but the message was clear: Defy me, and it will have dire consequences. Bellamy got the feeling that Mrs. Griffin was not a woman you wanted to disobey.

Clarke didn’t seem to feel the same way; her blue eyes had turned impossibly colder, and her lips were pressed together in a tight line. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was full of spite.

“I think the Detective will be very interested in what I have to say. Shall we kick start this investigation, hmm?”

She gripped Bellamy’s wrist and started tugging him out of the sitting room. Bellamy had no choice but to follow; Clarke was surprisingly strong for a woman her size.

He couldn’t help but to glance back towards Mrs. Griffin and Mr. Jaha. The two were staring after Bellamy and Clarke with identical expressions on their faces. Bellamy furrowed his brow; something was going on here, something that didn’t quite add up. He got an uncanny feeling in his gut as he tore his eyes away from Mrs. Griffin’s somber face.

Something wasn’t right here, and he’d be damned if he didn’t solve this case, sooner rather than later.


	2. When I say murder, you say…?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Miss, if you could keep the hostility to a minimum that would be great. I’m just trying to do my job.”  
> “Poorly,” the blonde muttered under her breath, and Bellamy decided then and there that Clarke Griffin was an infuriating little brat.

Clarke led Bellamy to yet another sitting room, this one even fancier looking than the last. She had released his hand the moment her mother was out of sight, a fact that Bellamy found oddly bothersome. Now she sat in one of the many heavy armchairs the sitting room had to offer, observing him with a contemplating look in her eyes. Gone was the frosty countenance and the hostile attitude; before him now, Bellamy saw only a girl covered in grief. He gingerly took out his notepad and ballpoint pen, and sat down in the armchair opposite Clarke’s. Tired eyes followed his every move, and Bellamy couldn’t help the feeling that Clarke was going to be interrogating him just as much as he would be interrogating her. He had to fight to keep back the smile threatening to break out on his face at that thought. He shook himself out of it: time to stop finding her gorgeous and fascinating, and start finding her suspicious.

“Ms. Griffin,” he started, but was immediately cut off.

“My name is Clarke,” she said.

“Yes, I’m aware, Ms. Griffin,” he responded, slightly amused. Was she honestly suggesting they should be on a first name basis? That would benefit no-one, Bellamy thought. Getting comfortable around Clarke Griffin could only end in disaster, if previous encounters were to be believed.

“So you will call me Clarke, or you will call me nothing at all,” Clarke insisted with a stubborn lilt to her voice.

Good gracious, Bellamy thought. This woman could rival a mule! Well, two could play this game, and Bellamy had always hated being bested.

“Alright, as you wish. Ms. Nothing-at-all, you made some pretty serious accusations against your mother and Mr. Jaha back in the other room. You seemed to believe that they were having an affair?”

Clarke’s eyebrows had gone up into her hairline at her new title, and she was now watching him with rapt attention. She’d moved to the edge of her seat, and Bellamy silently congratulated himself for making her come back to life, even if it was by annoying her profoundly.

Clarke let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You are something else, aren’t you, Mr. Blake?”

Bellamy only shrugged. “I would like you to answer my question, Miss, if you please?”

The small light that had lit in Clarke’s eyes died out. “Yes, I believe them to be having an affair. For months now, I’ve watched as those two grew closer, while my father and mother slipped further and further away from each other. Several times I’ve stumbled upon them, standing in corners, whispering. I can only thank heavens that my father didn’t live to discover her betrayal - it would have broken his heart completely.”

“So you think they killed him? To get rid of the problem at hand? So they could be together?” Bellamy prompted.

Clarke seemed to mull it over. After a small minute, she shook her head. “Yes. No. Maybe? I don’t know. Aren’t _you_ supposed to answer that particular question?” she inquired spitefully, and Bellamy scoffed.

“Miss, if you could keep the hostility to a minimum that would be great. I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Poorly,” the blonde muttered under her breath, and Bellamy decided then and there that Clarke Griffin was an infuriating little brat.

She is a richie, Bellamy reminded himself. Why are you so surprised?

Bellamy let out a deep sigh, and readied his pen. “Where were you last night between 9 p.m. and 4 a.m.?”

* * *

 

The next person to be questioned was Mrs. Griffin.

Bellamy’s interview with Clarke had been maddening; she was constantly questioning him, insulting him or trying to provoke him. Or all three at once. It hadn’t exactly left him in a good mood, so when the first thing Mrs. Griffin did was order more tea, he was about two seconds from blowing up.

He didn’t want tea. He wanted to get the hell out of Griffin mansion, and far away from insufferable, bratty blondes, who didn’t think he could do his goddamn job.

Mrs. Griffin chuckled and Bellamy’s eyes snapped to hers, ready to pick a fight if needed.

Mrs. Griffin raised her hand in a placating motion. “I see my daughter has gotten you quite worked up. It’s a special talent of hers. I find that tea often helps with that particular problem.”

As if on cue, a maid arrived with a tray of fine porcelain cups and a matching teapot. On a beautiful, hand-painted plate lay several chocolate biscuits. The maid poured them their tea, curtseyed and left. Bellamy rolled his eyes. Seriously? These people had their servants curtsey? He ran a hand over his face in exasperation. The sooner he was done with these interviews, the better.

“Mrs. Griffin, did Dr. Griffin have any enemies? Anyone who would want him gone?” Bellamy started.

Mrs. Griffin seemed a little choked at the question, but shook her head. “Everyone always loved Jake. He was a good man, and a good husband. A great father to Clarke.”  

 “Was he involved in any illegal activities, or did he have any associations with the mob?”

“Absolutely not.” Mrs. Griffin looked scandalized and a tad enraged. “Jake was the most honest man I have ever known. He dedicated his whole life to the company and to this family. To insinuate anything else is a direct insult to his memory.”

Bellamy looked up from his notepad sharply. “Forgive me, ma’am. I meant no disrespect; these are standard questions in any murder investigation,” he explained.

Mrs. Griffin seemed to visibly calm down. She nodded weakly, her eyes suddenly misty. “Apologies,” she said sadly. “It’s just… I couldn’t bear it if people thought poorly of Jake. He really was a wonderful man.”

Her expression became fond, as if remembering something pleasant. “I was twenty-two when I met Jake,” she started. “My best friend had been raving about his best friend for weeks. Back then it wasn’t appropriate for a young, unmarried woman to go floundering off with a gentleman on her own, so she begged me to go with her on a double-date. I was dreading it oh so terribly at the time,” Mrs. Griffin laughed, and Bellamy could not hide his smile. “Then we get there, and there is Jake. I remember how he kissed my hand in greeting; my hand was burning with that kiss during the entire dinner!” She laughed softly. Her cheeks had become rosy and her eyes shone. Bellamy had no doubt about her love for her late husband; talking about him seemed to light up her features and brighten her mood. She was genuinely smiling, for the first time since making Bellamy’s acquaintance, laughing too. It was almost as if she were an entirely different woman.   

“I kept thinking ‘this man is too good to be true!’ Those first months of courtship, I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally Jake got tired of it. He firmly told me that he would always love me and treat me right. We got engaged barely a week later.”

They both chuckled.

Bellamy looked down at his notes, dreading his next question. “Mrs. Griffin, your daughter seems to firmly believe that you have been having an affair with Mr. Jaha for some months now. Is there any truth to that?”

Mrs. Griffin sighed. “No, but Clarke has always been persistent in her beliefs. Thelonious and I are close friends, as was he and Jake. He has always looked out for our family - you know he gave Jake a job when no one else was willing to hire him? Our two families have always been close knitted after that,” she explained. 

“So Clarke is wrong?” Bellamy clarified.

“Yes,” Mrs. Griffin nodded. “The company has been having problems lately, not that Clarke would know anything about that. I have always been good with numbers, and so Thelonious came to me for help.”

Bellamy was taken aback; Jaha Coal Company had financial troubles? How could no-one know about this?

“Why not just tell Clarke that? Why let her continue to believe in her theory?” Bellamy asked, genuinely confused.

“I don’t want her to worry about that. She’s still so young. She should be out there enjoying her youth, not stuck in this house troubled with burdens too heavy for her small shoulders,” Mrs. Griffin answered.

Personally, Bellamy thought Clarke would be furious with this explanation. He quickly scolded himself - he didn’t know Clarke, they weren’t friends, or even acquaintances. He couldn’t possible know what Clarke would think of something after only one impossible conversation with the woman.

“Alright Mrs. Griffin, I just have a few more questions for you.”

* * *

 

After interviewing Mr. Jaha, Simon the butler, as well as about a dozen maids and servants, the two household cooks, each of the Griffin-family member’s personal chauffeurs, and the seemingly endless amount of gardeners, Bellamy could finally bid Mrs. Griffin and Mr. Jaha farewell and go home. He had been disappointed to find Clarke nowhere in sight, and then he had gotten mad at himself for getting disappointed. He spent the taxi ride home resolutely telling himself to snap out of it.

By the time he got back to his flat, he was exhausted.  
Interviewing was tedious work, and now he had to write down every answer he had gotten today in a more fluent way, while comparing times and happenings from all the statements.

The household staff had all been very cooperative and nice. Each and every one of them seemed to have loved Dr. Griffin dearly. He’d even had a few maids, who had broken down in tears during their interviews, overcome with grief over their master’s fate. It was clear that Jake Griffin had been most adored by those closest to him, and Bellamy was having a hard time finding a motive, or a suspect for that matter.

Bellamy groaned deeply and settled himself in for a long night of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the lovely Camilla. Thank you darling!


	3. Cute as Heck, But Will Break Your Neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to help you solve my father’s murder. God only knows you need all the assistance you can get,” she hissed.
> 
> Out of all the things she could have said, this was not on Bellamy’s expected list. Sure, she had seemed engrossed with finding her father’s killer, but actually wanting to assist a Detective in a case was something so completely out of the picture that Bellamy almost laughed. Almost.

Bellamy walked into the office the next day with a headache from hell.

Proof-reading and re-writing all of the interviews had taken him most of the night, and he was now running on nothing but two hours of sleep and annoyance. 

“Alright everybody, gather round!” he yelled, as he entered his team’s part of the office. Groans could be heard, even over the sound of morning chatter and chairs being dragged across the room.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. He wanted to groan himself, but being in charge certainly had its cons sometimes.

The chatter finally died down, but only after Bellamy raised an impatient eyebrow. He’d overheard one of the interns talk about how terrifying it was when he did that, once.

“Miller, will you do us the honor of starting this meeting?” Bellamy asked, and Miller jumped up to take his place besides the case-board.

“The victim’s name is Jake Griffin. The murder took place at Griffin Manor, Wednesday night between 2 and 4 a.m. Victim was found dead in his bed by this woman,” Miller pointed to a picture of a young woman on the board, and Bellamy took over with her information, “named Teresa Globin. She has been an employee at Griffin Household for two years, happily, if her own testimony and the testimony of the rest of the household is to be believed.”

Miller nodded. “Right, so Ms. Globin finds Doctor Griffin at around 6 o’clock in the morning, approximately 2-4 hours after the estimated death. After closer inspection, I believe the cause of death was suffocation. Unfortunately for us, the killer was smart – Doctor Griffin was most likely pinned down and suffocated with an object, such as a pillow, but the object was removed from the crime scene, most likely by the killer himself.”

Bellamy inwardly groaned. A missing murder weapon could lead to an unsolved case, unless they found a hole in one of the alibies. It wouldn’t look good on his record if he left a case unsolved, and so Bellamy resigned himself to an even more complicated case than previously anticipated.

“Octavia, I’m leaving you and Murphy in charge of alibi check-ups,” Bellamy said as he rose from the chair. Octavia rolled her eyes, but nodded: She hates working with Murphy, but then again, almost everyone hates working with Murphy, and Octavia is by far the one who handles it best.

“Detective?” an intern said from the door. “There’s a woman in the lobby demanding to see you.”

Bellamy frowned. He hasn’t slept with anybody new recently, having been occupied with too much work and therefore fallen back on an old booty call for relieving pressure. It’s been a while since any angry women have holed up in the lobby, demanding to see him.

Somewhere in the corner, Octavia laughed. “What did you do this time, Bell?” she questioned, and Bellamy grinned.

“Let’s go find out.”

* * *

 

In the lobby, on one of the old, worn-out benches, sat Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy almost doesn’t recognize her, she looks so radically different from the last time he saw her. Gone is the grimy hair, and the bags under her eyes. In their stead is carefully curled and pinned hair in a bright, healthy shade of cornish yellow. Her blue eyes stand out even more forcefully without the red rims, and this time, when she looks at him, they twinkle with something Bellamy can’t identify.

He’s careful when he approaches her. It’s sad, but it wouldn’t be the first time a woman would have slapped him in the lobby.

“Ms. Griffin,” he greet, and this gets a smirk out of the blonde.

“I thought we had a talk about name-calling, Mr. Blake?” she joked, and Bellamy had to hide his smile. He must have been unsuccessful, because the smirk on Clarke’s face widened, and her eyes almost gleamed with mirth. “I will not yield before you call me by my given name.”

Bellamy chuckled, and shook his head. “Then I suppose, I will just have to endure your teasing, Ms. Griffin.”

The comment seemed to deflate Clarke’s entire composure, if only for a minute, before she put up a cheery façade. Her smile was wide, but her eyes had gone cold, and Bellamy almost regretted not giving in and just calling her ‘Clarke’. It was an unprofessional action though, and it would only lead to unprofessional thoughts, which could lead to unprofessional acts, and then Bellamy would have to flee the country, and that would honestly just be sad.

Bellamy’s thoughts returned to the woman in front of him, when she cleared her throat. “I’m sure you are wondering what I’m doing here,” she started, and then stops to look at him expectantly.

Bellamy shrugged, because sure, he was, but he’s also pretty sure she was about to tell him everything, so he’s not about to ask questions.

His indifference seemed to annoy Clarke though, which was fairly amusing. Bellamy silently vowed to try to annoy the blonde more often.

“Well?” she huffed.

“Are you going to tell me or not, Princess, I’m a very important and busy man,” Bellamy smirked, which earned him an annoyed glare.

“I want to help you solve my father’s murder. God only knows, you need all the assistance you can get,” she hissed.

Out of all the things she could have said, this was not on Bellamy’s expected list. Sure, she had seemed engrossed with finding her father’s killer, but actually wanting to assist a Detective in a case was something so completely out of the picture that Bellamy almost laughed. Almost.

Instead he said, “There is absolutely no way that that is going to happen, Princess.”

Clarke smiled meanly, and her whole demeanor changed. She suddenly appeared predatory, and Bellamy felt like he was about to be pounced on. He gulped.

Clarke took a step closer to him, and Bellamy could practically feel the heat radiating from Clarke’s body. It took an embarrassing amount of willpower to not look down into her cleavage.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, blowing hot air on Bellamy’s ear. “Absolutely no way?”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Princess?” Bellamy rasped out, and Clarke took a step back. At this rate, her smirk was likely to go down in history under ‘Most used around Bellamy Blake’.

“Why, is it working?” she asked.

It _was_  working to be honest, because Bellamy has always had an affinity for blondes, and Clarke had captured his attention the very minute he met her. But this Clarke, with her sultry pose and sugar-coated voice, was not something that Bellamy was equipped to deal with. Her actions were meant to sway him towards accepting her help, but if he was to work with Clarke, he’d much rather work with the sarcastic brat who didn’t take no shit, rather than someone who thought they had to offer him something in return for his respect.

“I respect you, Cla- Ms. Griffin,” he mumbled, eyes trained on the ground. “And I never meant for you to believe that this kind of behavior would be appropriate. You are obviously deeply affected by your father’s death, and I can understand that you would want to help in bringing his killer to justice, but just…” he took a deep breath and looked up into clear, blue eyes. “I would gladly accept you help, if it was allowed, but it is not. But I want you to know that I would never take advantage of you, just as I expect that you will refrain from taking advantage of me, in the future.”

For several long minutes, the two just stare at each other. The lobby is thankfully empty, a fact Bellamy is eternally glad for. Having someone watch his interactions with Clarke would be humiliating, as well as troubling; interacting with possible suspects outside of the investigation is against at least thirty rules.

In front of him, Clarke was looking rather self-conscious. Her eyes were cast downwards, and she was hugging her arms around her stomach, as if to protect herself. Despite the completely surreal situation they were in, Bellamy couldn't help but find her cute.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s alright,” he answered, and she looked up at him with a small smile. “It’s forgotten.”

“Are you saying that I am forgettable, Mr. Blake?” she teased lightly, and Bellamy chuckled.

Clarke granted him a real smile for that, big and bright. If only she would smile like that all the time, Bellamy thought, the world would be a better place.  It’s the kind of smile that one can’t leave lonely, and must therefore always be given a smile in return, so Bellamy did just that.

“Is there really no way that I can help with the investigation?” Clarke asked, her voice serious. “I have more information on the household staff and the business, than any of you agents could hope to gather on their own. I would be a huge asset, and you wouldn’t even have to pay me. Think of the advantages, Blake!”

“You really though this through, didn’t you?” Bellamy inquired, intending on keeping Clarke in the belief that she can’t get her wish. The truth was that he had decided to take her on as an informant already. It would be slightly difficult to do so, but Bellamy was certain that Octavia would approve of his decision, and if someone could influence the Chief, it was his fiancé. Bellamy didn’t tell Clarke that though. Watching her argue for her case was rather amusing.

Clarke nodded. “I really want this, Detective. I loved my dad, and I want to help bring his murderer to justice.”

Bellamy sighed deep and dramatic, as if this was a _huge_ bother, and said, “Alright then, Princess. We can take you on as an informant.”

Clarke whooped. She actually, literally jumped up and whooped. She was smiling again, and Bellamy was  laughing, but the hug he received was still a complete surprise. He remained rigid for the whole two seconds the hug lasted, and remained rigid for a couple of minutes after it had ended. Clarke didn’t seem to notice this.

“Well then. I believe I will be seeing you around… Bellamy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bellamy grumbled. “It’s not very professional to call each other by our given names, Ms. Griffin.”

Clarke laughed, and gathered her things. “Then we shall have to become _un_ professional, Bellamy Blake,” she purred, winked at him and left the building.

Yes, Bellamy thought. That’s what I’m scared of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profoundly for the tardiness of this chapter. I promise I will do better with the next one. And well. I hope you enjoyed? :)


	4. The Higher You Climb, The Further You Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke visit the mines belonging to Jaha Coal Company, and the mystery of Doctor Jake Griffin's murder takes a turn for the weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the lovely Camilla. Also, I apologize in advantage for the Spanish. I didn't take Spanish in school, but the internet assured me this was right. If not, feel free to correct it :)

As it turned out, taking on Clarke as an informant had been an incredibly bad idea.

Not because she didn’t live up to her promise; she was indeed in possession of very sensitive information that would have taken Bellamy and his team weeks, if not months, to access. Her counsel and intel had set them several days ahead of schedule, and she got on well with everyone on the team. Even Murphy only insulted her about once a day, which was basically a twenty page love letter coming from him.

No, no, taking on Clarke as an informant proved to be the worst bad idea Bellamy had ever had, because as the days passed by, it soon became painfully clear that Clarke was the yang to Bellamy’s yin.

When Bellamy would get too involved in the investigation and forget things of minor importance, such as eating and drinking, Clarke would drag him out to a little café around the corner for sandwiches and tea (seriously, what was it with the Griffin family and their tea?).

When darkness and sorrow started to cloud Clarke’s face, Bellamy’s snarky commentary about random people around the office, his digs at Miller and Monty’s growing infatuation with one another, and his always teasing ‘princess’ were the only things that could bring back her sunny smile.

And it was (unfortunately and regretfully) only Clarke’s whispered compliments, her seemingly innocent (unless you happened to be Bellamy) comments, her winks and cheeky smiles, that could make the otherwise always smooth and put-together Bellamy Blake blush; a fact that Octavia in particular had found to be profoundly amusing.

“I guess now we know why you’ve never liked dealing with Riches, brother dearest,” she’d joked one day, laughing, and Bellamy’s team (damn traitors) had laughed along with her. Bellamy himself had cracked a smile and whispered a well-placed “Maybe you should report to Chief’s office; he looked awfully tense this morning” to Octavia, making his younger sibling narrow her eyes in distain. It wasn’t that Bellamy thought that Octavia had screwed her way to the top. It was more that he liked implying that she had, whenever she was being a brat, knowing how much she secretly feared other people thinking that this was the case.

As it was, Chief Lincoln was sending Bellamy to interview some of the miners who had been working in close contact with Doctor Griffin over the past few months before his death. As a last minute decision, he’d decided to send Clarke as well.

“Think of her as a guide of sorts,” Bellamy scoffed in a crude imitation of the Chief. “She’ll save you time going through clearance.” He stopped in the entrance hall, where he was to meet Clarke. One of the interns (Harriet? Harley? _Harper_.) was looking at him strangely.

“ _What_?” he demanded and was pleased to see her scurry off. At least he was still good at scaring interns.

You wouldn’t think it, judging from his foul mood, but Bellamy was actually very keen to work alone with Clarke. It had only been a week since he’d persuaded Octavia to persuade Chief Lincoln into taking on Clarke as an informant, and they hadn’t had much time alone since then. It was starting to grate on Bellamy’s nerves, a little because he wanted to be the sole focus of Clarke’s attention, but mainly because he wanted to be the sole focus of Clarke’s attention. He had to constantly berate himself, making sure he didn’t do something stupid, like ask her out, or simply grab her and kiss her on the spot. She was in mourning, for Pete’s sake! The shy but clever flirting was probably just a coping mechanism that Bellamy certainly shouldn’t read anything into; much less make the highlight of his day.

Someone patted his left shoulder, but when he looked, no-one was there. A small chuckle reached Bellamy’s ears. _Go time_ , he thought, as he turned around to face none other than Clarke Griffin herself in all her beautifully teasing glory.

“I can’t believe you actually fell for that, Bell!” the woman in question giggled. She looked positively ecstatic. Her blue eyes glowed with mirth, and her smile pushed her apples cheeks to the creek of her eyes. Bellamy belatedly noticed that she had dimples.

“Maybe I just thought I’d indulge your childish whims, princess?” Bellamy shot back, his foul mood long forgotten.

“I bet you’d like to indulge my childish whims, Mr. Blake,” Clarke whispered seductively, and with a wink in Bellamy’s direction she broke down laughing again.

The problem was that they complimented each other far better than they had any business doing, Bellamy thought wryly, and then quickly schooled his features back into a smirk as Clarke suddenly looked over at him with a thoughtful expression.

“What?” he asked, feeling a little self-conscious at her scrutiny.

Clarke shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, smirk back in place. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

The mines belonging to Jaha Coal Company were the exact opposite of the man who owned them.

Where Jaha was impeccably dressed, clean cut and shaven, his mines were dirty, messy holes in the ground.

Where he was strong and authoritative, basking in his success, the very image of the American Dream, his mines were crumbling, the pillars holding up the cave walls tired looking, as if on the verge of collapse.

The men working, Bellamy couldn’t help but notice, resembled the mines a lot more than they did their employer.

Chief Lincoln had been right; Bellamy did save time navigating and trying to gain access with Clarke by his side. It was obvious to Bellamy that Clarke was familiar with the layout of the mines. Perhaps her father had brought her along while working sometime. The thought saddened Bellamy; it wasn’t fair on Clarke to be here so soon after her father had been taken from her.

He pulled her to the side. “If this is too much for you…” he started, then stopped. How to best say his piece without insulting her? “If you feel at all uncomfortable, I just want you to know that I got this. It’s okay if you want to sit this one out.”

Clarke, who had been carrying a sort of pinched expression akin to the one you wear when your shoes are just a number too small, gave him a small smile. “Thank you,” she said. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

Bellamy squeezed her hand back before letting it go. “Offer’s on the table,” he told her. When she nodded, so did he. He trusted Clarke enough to not second guess her. If she said she was fine, Bellamy believed her.

 

* * *

 

 Turned out Clarke wasn’t the only one feeling a tad uncomfortable. Most of the workers they tried talking to shut down completely the second Doctor Griffin was mentioned.

Feeling like he was walking in quicksand, Bellamy motioned for Clarke to follow him over to the supervisor’s stand. The supervisor himself was a peaceful looking white man in his mid-forties, judging by his prominent bear belly. Bellamy introduced himself as well as Clarke and for the first time that day the name ‘Griffin’ wasn’t met with wide, frightened eyes, but rather with eyes full of sympathy.

“My condolences to you, Ms. Griffin,” the supervisor said. “Horrible, what happened to Jake, simply horrible. The name is Thatcher, my lady, Charlie Thatcher, at your service.”

Bellamy perked at that; Thatcher, a lowly supervisor, was on first name basis with Doctor Griffin, the Senior Environmental Engineer of Jaha Coal Company?  That somehow didn’t seem right.

Bellamy cleared his throat to get Thatcher’s attention. “Mr. Thatcher, would you say that you knew Doctor Griffin well?” he inquired.

“Well and well,” Thatcher mumbled, “He came around here a lot in the months before… well, before. Always very friendly, Jake was. Never too good to strike up a conversation or share a cup of coffee. I liked that. He didn’t think himself above the rest of us. Yeah, I liked that about him. Good man, that Jake Griffin. Good man indeed.”

Bellamy looked up from his notes. “And what did you talk about in these conversations? You could hardly have had a lot in common and small talk must have run thin in the end?”

Thatcher looked mildly insulted and mildly teary eyed. Bellamy prayed to whatever deity out there that the man didn’t start blubbering all over the place.

“We talked mostly about work. Our positions in the company weren’t all that different, you know,” Thatcher declared while throwing Bellamy the stink eye. “Jake was very interested in the miners’ attendance, for example. I never quite understood why an engineer would bother checking up on my men’s sick days, but then again, that was just the way Jake was. Always very considerate. I remember one time…”

“Have you had many workers taking sick days?” Bellamy cut him off, much to Thatcher’s distaste. Bellamy didn’t care; Thatcher was right. Environmental engineering had nothing to do with the welfare of the workers, and the fact that Doctor Griffin took such an interest in how many miners showed up for work, paired with the unease and at times outright fright the man’s name had brought out in the miners they’d interviewed… It just didn’t add up. Bellamy was so lost in thought that he almost missed Thatcher’s terse reply of:

“We’ve experienced a strike of influenza amongst the men; can’t be helped, it’s the wet weather and all. We have had a couple of guys from the Spanish division take off on us. Bloody Spaniards, they can’t be trusted. Rotten to the core, that lot is. I’d fire them all if it wasn’t because Mr. Jaha said he fixed the problem with them. Fine man, Mr. Jaha. I wouldn’t want to be in the boots of the man who had quarrels with him, I’ll tell you that,” Thatcher chuckled.

Bellamy’s confusion was mirrored on Clarke’s face.

“But if some of the miners have gone missing, shouldn’t that be filed in an official report?” Clarke gently probed. 

“Mr. Jaha told us “no need”. Told us he’d spare us the paperwork. I like that about him, he knows where his priorities are. Besides, they aren’t missing, they’re bloody deserters. Good riddance, I say!” Thatcher boomed, and Bellamy had had enough.

“Chupamedias,” Bellamy spat. “Que te folle un pez, racista!”

Was it childish, the amount of pleasure Bellamy took from the shock on Thatcher’s face? Maybe. Was it worth it, especially when he heard Clarke mutter, “And good riddance to you too, Mr. Thatcher,” under her breath as the two of them stormed away? Abso-fucking-lutely.

The glee of putting the supervisor in his place quickly faded and the weirdness of the situation kicked back in full force. What did influenza, missing Spanish workers and Doctor Griffin have to do with each other? And why had Mr. Jaha seemingly passed their disappearance off as a minor annoyance, instead of having a full-fledged search?

As if reading his mind, Clarke turned to him, worry clear on her face. “I remember once, when I was younger, that there was a man who took off from the mines. They sent out a warrant for his arrest, and the amount of paperwork filed on his case was quite astonishing. To not do something about _several_ workers going missing? Bellamy, something isn’t right here.”

He nodded. She was right, of course. Something definitely wasn’t right. But how were they supposed to figure out the connection between the dots, when their only source of information was a racist bootlicker of a supervisor? Sighing in despair Bellamy started walking towards the exit, Clarke hot on his heels.

A hand shot out and grabbed onto Bellamy’s elbow, efficiently holding him back and stopping him from leaving. The hand belonged to one of the Spanish miners, though not one of the ones they’d questioned. His hair was black and greasy, his already tanned skin darkened by sooth and dirt. He looked at his hand on Bellamy’s elbow like he too wondered what it was doing there. Then he lifted his head and Bellamy could see the determination in his eyes.

“Talk to Pablo,” the man muttered under his breath, his eyes flickering from side to side as if to check, and then double-check, that they weren’t being overheard. “I heard what Mr. Thatcher said. Vile man. You need to talk to Pablo Ramirez. He’ll tell you what you need to know. The others are scared… Pablo ain’t got nothing to lose. He’ll tell you.” With those parting words, he slunk back into the shadows, leaving a very confused Clarke and a very suspicious Bellamy in his wake.

 

* * *

 

  “Any idea on how to find Pablo Ramirez?” a dejected Clarke asked approximately one cab ride later.

Said cab ride had been spent in silence, both of them deep in thought.

“I think,” Bellamy said, turning to meet Clarke’s eyes, his own ablaze with mischief, “it’s time to pay Mr. Jaha’s office a visit.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chupamedias = Bootlicker.  
> Que te folle un pez, racista = I hope you get fucked by a fish, you racist. 
> 
> I am very sorry for the long wait, I've had such a writer's block for this fic, but it's finally starting to go away! I will try to be better with the next chapters, though I probably shouldn't be making any promises...


	5. Knowing Me, Knowing You

It was late afternoon when they arrived back at the precinct. Monroe, the intelligence unit’s personal secretary, chirpily informed them that they’d just missed the Chief, and exactly what kind of bodily harm Mrs. Chief had promised anyone who dared bother them at home with office matters.

Bellamy sighed. He had no doubt Octavia would follow through on every threat she’d made, and possible invent a few other means of punishment if he were to interrupt her ‘Lincoln-time’. He’d been on the receiving end before, and wasn’t exactly eager to repeat the experience.

“It _is_ nearly four thirty,” Clarke informed him as he mournfully watched Monroe pack her office supplies into her bag. “Happy hour?”

Bellamy mulled it over. On one hand, alone time with a possibly intoxicated Clarke, ensuring him at least a couple of hours of good natured flirting, and a generally good time. On the other hand, he’d risk falling even deeper for the young woman, a prospect Bellamy wasn’t exactly fond of, seeing as there was no chance in hell Clarke and him would ever work out. Not only because her father had recently been murdered and he very obviously was her distraction from the mess that had become her life; even in the scenarios Bellamy imagined where Clarke actually felt the same way as he did, they couldn’t be. Clarke, for all her snarky comments and loose laughs, was a richie. And riches didn’t date lowly detectives, and they certainly didn’t end up with them in the long run.  No matter how much he enjoyed her attention now, Bellamy had no intention of becoming Clarke’s physical therapy, so to speak.

Rubbing his neck nervously, he started, “I dunno, Clarke, I’m pretty smashed…”

“Please, Bellamy, I…” Clarke bit her lower lip, unintentionally drawing Bellamy’s full attention to the abused flesh, “I could really use a drink after today,” she finished, looking up at him from under her lashes, and all Bellamy’s careful consideration flew out the window.

“Sure,” he heard himself say. “There’s a two-for-one offer on beer at Charlie’s,” he unwillingly continued, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care that this was such a bad idea, not when Clarke’s whole face lit up at his suggestion, the bounce suddenly back in her step.

“That sounds like exactly what we need!” she grinned. She linked their arms together and turned her sunbeam of a smile on him. “Ready when you are, Mr. Blake!”

Such a bad, _bad_ idea.

* * *

 

Happy hour at Charlie’s was officially the best idea Bellamy had ever had. He was currently nursing his sixth beer, completely enraptured with a story Clarke was telling him.

“So there I was, standing in the middle of the hospital covered head to toe in sparkly confetti, while Wells was trying to pick up a very unimpressed nurse wearing nothing but the vase on his head and an adult diaper,” Clarke gestured with her hands and made a face, obviously trying to convey _awkward_ and Bellamy laughed so hard, he spewed beer out his nose.

Seeing him trying to wipe up his beer-snot had Clarke doubling over, laughing so hard that actual tears started rolling down her cheeks. It took them both a moment to stop laughing, starting again when Bellamy had to go ask the barkeep for more napkins, please.

A while later they were standing outside waiting for Clarke’s driver to pick her up. It was a lovely night. The streets were full of life with people coming and going to and from various bars and restaurants, the faint tones of jazz music flowing towards them seemingly from nowhere.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Clarke said, her eyes hidden from Bellamy’s sight by her hair, her hands tightly clutching her purse.

“Yeah me too,” Bellamy smiled, shuffling his feet slightly. He didn’t know why he was feeling so bashful; it was just Clarke.

“Bellamy, I…”

“I wanted to…”

They both chuckled. “You first,” Clarke said gesturing towards him.

“No, no, you first, it wasn’t…” Bellamy trailed off. Clarke suddenly seemed so much closer than just a minute ago. He could see how the street lights reflected in her blue eyes, could count her eyelashes and smell her flowery perfume. His mouth felt dry. His hands felt clammy, his shoes too tight.

Clarke took another step towards him, leaving only a couple of inches between them. “Wasn’t what?” she whispered, and Bellamy could smell the beer on her breath mixed with the mint pastilles she’d eaten earlier.

“Important,” Bellamy finally managed to get out after an embarrassing long pause. A strand of hair tore itself loose from behind Clarke’s ear, and before thinking about it Bellamy had closed the final distance between them, tucking the strand back behind her ear where it belonged.

“Bellamy,” Clarke’s breath was coming in short, labored pants. For some reason it gave Bellamy the courage to look down into her eyes, a soft smile in place on his lips.

“Yes, Ms. Griffin?”

The tease appeared to have the effect Bellamy hadn’t known he had desired, because the next second Clarke’s lips came crashing into his. He couldn’t help but notice that her lips were as soft as they looked; so full and utterly bitable. How many times had he not fantasized about drawing her plump lower lip into his mouth, and now he finally had the chance to do just that. Clarke moaned when he bit down gently, drawing a small chuckle from Bellamy.   

 They stood like that for a while, Bellamy’s hands around Clarke’s waist, Clarke’s arms around Bellamy’s neck, just kissing. Usually Bellamy wasn’t a huge fan of kissing; it was a necessary act that would lead to the main event you were really there for. But with Clarke, kissing was just that: kissing. Slow and unhurried, lips against lips, tongues carefully caressing one another. It wasn’t even very sexual; more like learning each other, carelessly changing their relationship once again.

A car honked next to them, making them spring apart out of shock. Clarke’s chauffeur stared unimpressed at them from behind the wheel.

“I best get in before Clarence pitches a fit,” Clarke said with a giggle, and even though Bellamy was suddenly paralyzed with fear of Clarence deciding to tell Mrs. Griffin of her daughter’s scandalous evening with a lower class-man, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of Clarence stomping his foot and waving his fists in the air before an amused Clarke.

Clarke turned around in his arms, her eyes sparkling with mirth and something Bellamy would only later identify as nervousness.

“I guess I’ll see you when I see you, Mr. Blake?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper.

Bellamy couldn’t help but bend down and give her one last fleeting kiss. Color rose in her cheeks, and Bellamy silently thought that bashfulness was a wonderful look on the usually in control Clarke.

“I’ll see you when I see you, Clarke,” he replied, and Clarke’s blinding smile kept him warm all the way home.

The next morning it took him a little convincing, but in the end Chief Lincoln agreed that the missing workers and Doctor Griffin’s apparent involvement was a little too suspicious to overlook, and Bellamy got his search warrant for Jaha Coal Company’s book archive. Clarke wasn’t around today; there was no more need for her as an informant at the minute, and Bellamy found himself irrationally missing her. Just the thought of her lips on his the night before had him more awake than his usual cup of morning coffee, and a thousand times more giddy. The fact unfortunately wasn’t lost on Octavia, who simply raised an eyebrow and mouthed ‘ _spill_ ’. He nodded, mouthing _‘later’_ , which (praise the Lord) seemed to satisfy her. For now, anyways.

Miller grabbed hold of him on his way out. “Hey, we were able to pull a fingerprint from the bedside table, too small to be Dr. Griffin’s.  Could be our mystery killer. It’s being worked over; I’ll have the answer for you by the time you get back.”

Smiling, Bellamy nodded. “Thanks, Miller.” This case was starting to look up, and it really was a question of the sooner the better if you asked Bellamy. Not just because it was his job, but because of Clarke. She needed closure so she could start to properly move on. She deserved it, after everything she’d been through.

* * *

 

The search of Jaha Coal Company’s office went without a hitch. Mr. Jaha wasn’t even at the office, and his secretary and the rest of his staff was much easier intimidated by Bellamy’s authority than the older man would have been. Bellamy still wasn’t completely sure that Jaha actually had something to hide in the first place, but an uneasy feeling had started to take hold of him. Ever since they visited the mines the day before, Bellamy hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that whatever they found out at the office that day, he wasn’t going to like it.

He sent Murphy, his partner for the day, off to find the files on Pablo Ramirez. Going on a hunch, Bellamy asked to be directed to the financial files.

Finding the file on 1918-1919 was easy enough, but the more Bellamy read the more confused he got. The first time he’d interviewed Mrs. Griffin, she’d told him that Jaha Coal Company was having financial problems. The books spoke a different story; the numbers was steadily rising, looking very promising, even to Bellamy’s untrained eye. So Mrs. Griffin had lied. Had Clarke been correct in her accusations against her mother and Mr. Jaha then? Were they truly having an affair? If so, they could both be potential suspects, their motive to get rid of the middle man so they could be together legally, but somehow Bellamy couldn’t wrap his head around it. Mrs. Griffin had seemed genuinely in love with her husband; Bellamy had felt it during his interview with her. And hadn’t Mrs. Griffin let Clarke believe what she wanted about the affair, only mentioning finances as an alibi when Bellamy had been the one questioning her? The whole affair theory had never really felt right to Bellamy, and after four years on the job, he knew better than to ignore his gut.

He was torn out of his thoughts by a loud knock on the door. “Yo boss, I found him,” came Murphy’s sarcastic drawl from the doorway. Bellamy looked up.

“Pablo Ramirez, Latino, 32, single, has been with Jaha Coal Company for six years, currently on sick leave.”

Bellamy grabbed his coat. “Sounds like our guy; you got an address on that?”

Murphy turned his trademark ‘I’m so un-impressed with you, but also with the world in general’ stare on him. “Would I have barged in here if I didn’t?” he asked dryly.

Bellamy pushed past him and headed for the door. “Don’t be a smartass, smartass. Where are we going?”

“Around the old Spanish neighborhood; 23A Brighton St. It’s right off Saint Paul’s and Wemberly’s.”

“Well then, let’s get going.”

They never even made it to the car; Bellamy was called back into the house to take a call from the precinct before they’d even made it down all the stairs.

It was Miller on the phone. Rational, reliable Miller, but what he said didn’t make sense to Bellamy. It was all white fuss. Miller sounded so apologetic. Why was he so sad…?

And then his words registered in Bellamy’s brain. The fingerprint they’d pulled from Doctor Griffin’s bedside table had been Clarke’s. Forensics had found footprints leading away from the crime scene in Clarke’s shoe size. She’d been arrested for the murder of her father, Doctor Jake Griffin.

Bellamy dropped the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one, maybe two more to go! Beta'ed by the lovely Camilla, thank you so much my darling <3

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was based on a prompt I recieved from sarahandrelouise. Forgive me for not meeting all of your expectations (film noir vibes. Know they ain't there). Once I started writing this, I realized that I had a much bigger plot than just for a one-shot, so... Yep. Hope you guys like it! :)


End file.
